a million little things cast transgender

To feel pleasure, we accept the possibility of pain. That’s the tragic paradox at the heart of transness: To live, we risk dying. Because if I listened to it, I would never experience anything-never feel anything. I tried to shush the “trans talk” inside my head-the inner voice that yelled at me, warning me not to keep putting myself in situations like this. Then we were undressing, drinking in the sight of each other’s silhouettes. It was so New York-the kind of apartment you’d see on TV. This guy got game, I thought, admiring the way the light flickered against the exposed brick wall of his loft. He lit some candles when we got into his apartment. There was no way of knowing whether he’d be worth the risk, but tonight I wanted to take it anyway. Geena, what are you doing?Īnd then I looked over at his face-that beautiful face that looked like it was from everywhere and nowhere all at once-and kept walking. The horns of the cabs blaring past us sounded more like fire alarms now. I hadn’t forgotten having to hide in that closet at Lake Tahoe, or seeing the look on that guy’s face in San Francisco as he drove me home in complete silence. The truth was that men were fun-but they could also be dangerous. Not even our impromptu makeout session could distract me from the nagging unease in my stomach. He received all my slaps pleasurably, their rhythm a grounding soundtrack to a perfect, if unexpected, evening.īut some nights that moment could only be fleeting, because as we walked the few blocks between the bar and his apartment, the reality of the situation hit me. Our needs were being stated-and satisfied: His were literally written on his cheeks. Wrapped up in that consent between him and me, we had a sense of freedom. My self-imposed judgment vanished into the night. After my sixth slap, I started to feel uncomfortable-hello, Catholic guilt!-but by the tenth, I eased back into it, letting go of more inhibitions with each thrust. Pak! His face got redder his moans grew more intense. He especially liked it when my smack landed perfectly in between his left cheekbone and jawline, his plump cheeks producing that perfect high-pitched slap. But the trust in his eyes was thrilling, and it revealed who was really in charge here. I could tell this was pure pleasure for him. He was a man in power who wanted pain in the bedroom-and more of it. “Bebi, please, please,” he begged, still elegant and handsome even as he was asking to be dominated. “I can’t,” I said, making my voice sound girlish.

A million little things cast transgender